


Road To Perdition

by AssbuttAnonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssbuttAnonymous/pseuds/AssbuttAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's family has been fighting demons and supernatural beings for ages. When they are slaughtered in their home Dean barely has time to escape, badly wounded and delirious. This is a story of revenge, action, adventure, romance and very dark themes. It won't be an easy journey, not by a long shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most men Dean's age were already settled down, their life just barely falling into place and unfurling itself out. They knew what they wanted, knew what they had and had plans for the future. Dean was not most men. Dean Winchester knew two things for certain in his life: Firstly, Bert and Ernie were gay. Seriously, they were pretty much one of the only recognized gay couples in media and had been for years. Secondly, that the world was filled to the brim with monsters that most people could barely dream of and he would probably kill them until the day he died.

He had not experienced anything called a 'miracle', nothing especially magical that would constitute as both a good thing and wouldn't cost anything in exchange. Faith healers were always fraudulent, keeping a Reaper on a leash or using the Placebo effect to cure healthy people. Then there were those who wrapped themselves in the security blanket called 'religion'. Dean knew about demons, Hell too, but there was no Heaven. There was no place where the good people went, where the righteous rested their weary heads. When good men and women died they were just gone, plain and simple. Death brings no peace to the ones left behind.

Dean nursed his third beer for the evening, sitting in solitude on the hood of his precious Impala while he thought about the day. He and Jo had burst down the doors of a Vamp nest and torched the blood suckers after they had spent a week gorging themselves on the townsfolk – not half as easy as it sounds. With every sip he felt the dull throb in his skull from what was probably a concussion, the superficial lacerations all over him still stinging from Ellen's rather violent disinfectant session. She'd really cracked down on medical treatment after Sam nearly got gangrene last summer. Good thing too, it had saved everyone at least a couple hundred in hospital bills; regardless, that woman was terrifying when she had her mind set on something.

Finishing off the last of his alcohol he decided it was enough for the evening and headed into the house. Shuffling up the stairs to his room for the night, Dean didn't bother removing his boots before flopping onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh of relief. There really was nothing quite like a soft bed after a long day of killing monsters. The instant his head hit the pillow Dean's body was claimed by sleep.

***

Castiel watched as the morning of his day began with the slaughter of the Righteous Man's clan. The demons came in the night, having followed Dean using a tracking device carefully hidden underneath the body of his car during his hunt. The hunters had never anticipated demons to use such _human_ methods, never would have dreamed them to become so crafty. Waiting for the clan to get comfortable, they made their move – systematically destroying the demon traps, hex bags and other wards with human puppets they had tricked into servitude. God wasn't the only one with a human army at his disposal.

He could not sit idly by as he watched Jo Harvelle fall, ripped to ribbons by hellhounds. As Ellen fought with a new found desperation she too perished, followed shortly thereafter by Bobby. As the flames from their battle threatened to completely engulf the house along with every sleeping hunter in it too, Castiel flew swiftly to the Heaven that Zachariah had declared his 'office' before forcing his way in and demanding to speak to the Angelic Authority.

"Castiel, you know this can be seen as insubordination. What is the meaning behind this?"

"The Righteous Man, he-"

"Is safe and sound, he will survive this."

"Wh-"

"We've known, Castiel. The Righteous Man must be broken before he can grow strong and become the weapon he must be."

"But-"

"This is God's Will, Castiel. We cannot intervene."

He felt his form shirt then, all of his mouths becoming dry as he stared in horror at the Angel before him. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing inherently that something was _wrong_ , he spoke once more.

"He is just a man, Zachariah. He could break beyond repair, he could turn if we do not offer him guidance and assistance in this."

"Castiel, stop this blasphemy immediately. The word of God is final – we will not intervene. Stand down."

"I-"

"Stand down or face the Wrath of God."

He knew that this was a fight he could not win – Zachariah was too set in his own ways that he would not be able to see his point. Zachariah could not feel the wrongness of his own orders, the bitter taste of questions that needed to be asked left unspoken. Bowing his heads in submission, Castiel allowed his wings to droop as he kneeled before his superior.

"I apologize for my behavior, brother. It was…a momentary lapse in judgment. I will not allow it to happen again."

"All is forgiven, little Castiel. I trust you to keep your word – I will hold you to it."

Leaving the 'office', Castiel knew what he had to do. Going to his preferred Heaven, he took a few deep, unnecessary breaths before reaching his Grace back in time to properly prepare his vessel for this moment.

"Father, forgive me."

Then he was gone, gliding to Earth with a speed exceeding that of a peregrine falcon diving for its prey. When he did land, he was surprised by his vessel. It had taken less time than he had anticipated getting Jimmy Novak's cooperation. He was devout beyond fault, taking each test in stride and finally accepting him into his body with no qualms; he had only required the promise that his family would be safe. Hoping that he could keep well on his promise, he agreed and then flowed into Jimmy. His body felt different than Castiel had anticipated, far more complex than he had imagined. As he pulled his Grace into the man he left his wings in the realm in-between, knowing that they would not fit and would provide a reliable means of transport.

***

Dean woke to the smell of burning plastic and the crackling of wood splintering from heat. Opening his bleary, sleep deprived eyes he immediately regretted it as they instantaneously began to tear up from the smoke surrounding him. Coughs wracking his bulky frame as he quickly made his way to the door, he made the mistake of grabbing the solid iron handle. As the pain seared through his arm he cried out, ripping his hand free before the skin had a chance to fuse onto the heated metal. Taking a few tense steps back, he braced his shoulder and rammed the door open, the oak cracking from the stress and swelling from the heat.

An inferno awaited him outside his room, smoke pouring in more ferociously than before. Ripping the sleeve off of his button up he was grateful he had forgotten to remove; he used it as a handkerchief to aid his breathing. Desperately, he searched the room for another means of escape before his eyes landed on the sole window on the opposite side. Testing the flame licked boards beneath his feet to ensure they would hold him, he ran out the window; Dean could feel the glass as it shattered on impact, slicing and embedding itself into his flesh.

The falling had never been his concern, the feeling of floating almost a relief as he felt the flames flare up and explode out the exit he had created in his haste. Too late he realized his room was on the third floor – there was no way he could get out without some kind of broken bone. The ground coming fast, he turned onto his left side, ensuring his ability to drive, write and other conventional actions. He felt his arm and ribs snap, heard the sickening sound of bones breaking like twigs under foot. As he fought back the urge to cry out once more he rolled onto his back and cradled his devastated side in his good arm. His breaths coming in short bursts, he forced himself into a seated position and regretted it instantly, the pain slicing through the ruined tissue of his back.

***

Wasting no time, he unfurled his excess appendages and took flight, going to where he knew Dean to be. No matter what he had seen in Heaven, it did not prepare him for the physical sensation Jimmy provided him – the heat of the starving flames as they ate away at the remains of the house and its inhabitants. To ease his worried mind, yet only causing himself more turmoil, he discovered that almost everyone Dean cared about was gone. Yet the small glimmer of hope that was Sam Winchester lived on despite the Angel's lack of knowledge that his escape could not have been of his own free will.

Turning his back to the flames, he willed his Grace to find Dean, laying it out like an intricate web until he felt a tug that could only have been the Righteous Man.

***

Crawling to the nearest tree, Dean forced his aching body to obey his command to stand as he stumbled his way through the dense forest cover. His pain addled mind tried to rationalize, tried to tell him that everyone else had made it out and that he should seek shelter for rest. As darkness ate at the corners of his vision he managed to reach a clearing.

***

As Castiel flew to the clearing he knew Dean would emerge into he landed, concealing his wings and hoping that his vessel was adequate. While he could no more change his vessel than spare Dean this hardship he knew some forms were easier than others to accept. This was the intent of vessels to begin with – to make the transition for humans easier. Nothing was more mind shattering than attempting to register a being of pure celestial intent through the human psyche.

Castiel felt Dean before he saw him, the sound of his blood rushing through his veins and out of his wounds unsettling. As the Righteous Man came into view Castiel realized how much more overwhelming the sight of him in person was. Like all of God's creations and yet more so, Dean was beautiful. As green, pain darkened eyes met his ethereal blue ones he knew he needed to say something, anything to ease the hunter's terror addled mind.

"Hello Dean."

The hunter collapsed, his body succumbing to its need of rest and loss of blood. Not expecting this development and unsure how to proceed, Castiel decided to start with things within his ability to control. Moving to where the hunter lay, he gently grasped his uncovered left shoulder so as to not rouse him and allowed his Grace to flow freely through the sleeping man; Castiel made a mental assessment of damages. _'Three broken ribs, a minor concussion, smoke inhalation causing damage in both lungs, a ruptured kidney, a torn ligament in his right leg, the left arm is broken in two places with multiple lacerations all along his torso and abdomen as well as third degree burns on the inside of his right hand.'_

Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he set about healing the worst of it. _'It may have been God's Will to put this man through so much, but he would not have survived it on his own.'_ Castiel focused on the major wounds, conserving his energies by leaving the superficial and non-life-threatening ones in a subconscious attempt to not alarm Dean. Heaven needed the Righteous Man alive and ready to fight.

"I did the right thing."

Castiel murmured those words aloud, reassuring himself as much as he was trying to prove a point. Upon completion all that remained was three bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, minor burns on his right hand and the lacerations – allowing his Grace to linger there so as to staunch the flow of blood before Dean treated them. Castiel did not know how long he had sat there, but he could hear the sound of the sun on the horizon signaling the day's start. Once again, the Angel found himself unsure how to proceed. It had been many years since his last visit to Earth – thousands if he was using the human calendar correctly – but he was familiar with humanity, his knowledge of their behavioral patterns and anatomy better than that of any high end doctor, scholar or historian. He had lived to see the birth of this world, spending much of his time watching over its inhabitants.

Kneeling down before man had come easily to him, his youth in comparison to his siblings giving him a closeness to man they were spared. He found them fascinating, beautiful, not unlike all of God's creations. As he reminisced in times of old Castiel failed to noticed the sleeping hunter stir despite his hand still gripping his shoulder, his body crouched down diagonally in front of him and yet his mind miles away.

***

As Dean pulled his conscious mind out of his sleep fog he slowly registered the pain he felt all over and a foreign pressure and heat on his left shoulder. His head was pounding his muscles screaming in protest to their brutal treatment from the night before. As he allowed his eyes to flutter open he tried to remember why he was in such rough shape, why he found himself lying with his face in the grass in the middle of the forest. Recollection came swiftly then, the fire and his escape unfurling at neck breaking speeds through his mind before he remembered passing out – the trench coat clad man with the startling eyes who _knew his fucking name_.

Before he jumped up, swirling his head around wildly to find the Tax Accountant wannabe from Hell his brain reminded him of the pressure he felt on his shoulder. _'That sonovabitch! He's hanging around to interrogate me; I won't give him the satisfaction.'_ Dean's mind took inventory on the weapons available to him, cursing internally when he realized that he had removed most of them before heading up to bed. The only one he could think of was the Demon Dagger, sheathed and tucked away…in the safety of his right boot. _'Well fuck.'_

***

Castiel felt, quite suddenly, the muscles under his hand grow tense. Removing himself from beside the hunter he stood, slowly turning to face him as Dean – quick as his training had prepared him and his injuries permitted – pulled out the Dagger he knew was concealed and stabbed Castiel in the chest. The sensation of pain was dull, like an insect bite or a pin prick, but the gesture had caught the Angel off guard. Regardless, he did not know whether it registered on his features or not as he reached up and grasped the hilt with his right hand. The hunter watched in a terrified fascination as Castiel pulled the blade out and dropped it on the earthen floor beneath them.

***

"One monster down – hundreds more to go; what say you tell me what the hell you are, save us both some time."

Dean had regained his composure but inside he was panicking – that blade was iron, knocking off at least half a dozen monsters from the list. This thing in front of him continued to regard him with a look of confused fascination, only succeeding in further unnerving him with its over saturated eyes.

"My name is Castiel."

"Yeah, that's nice – what are you?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

"Get the Hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"This is your problem, Dean, you have no faith."

"Yeah? Well, Angels just don't exist."

"Demons exist, Hell exists. Isn't the logical conclusion that Angels and Heaven do as well?"

"Look, I'm not buying what you're selling. What are you really?"

"I told you-"

"Yeah, and I said you're a lying bag of dicks. God doesn't exist, Heaven doesn't exist and junkless, peace loving-"

"You would do well to show me some respect. I've saved your life once already; I can easily take it."

Dean had been too busy with his own denial to notice that the self proclaimed Angel had closed the distance between them – his eyes practically luminescent with a dangerous intent. Remembering the fire, Dean kicked himself for allowing the Angel to take his mind away from what should have been priority number one. He turned his face away from the violently searching eyes, looking instead at the shiny black dress shoes peeking out from beneath the slightly too large pants.

"Why?"

"I don't understand your question."

"Why _did_ you save me if you really are what you say? Why?"

"Good things do happen, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, not in my experience."

"What is the matter?"

***

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion; surely the Righteous Man would have more faith than this. Stepping closer still, he peered into his soul until he found the reason behind such hopeless words.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean's silence reaffirmed Castiel's statement. Despite his vast knowledge Castiel had no idea how to comfort the broken man before him. Without any true feelings, no angel had ever needed condolences or softly spoken words. Using his vessel's touch associated memories; Castiel awkwardly raised his hand, causing Dean to flinch. Taking a few steps back in an attempt to distance himself from his own insecurities, Dean lashed out at the creature in front of him.

***

"Yeah, well how do I know you're even what you claimed to be? Where's the robe? How about the harp or your friggin' feathers?"

The Angel's brow furrowed once again as he spoke, his words hesitant as though he had to choose his words carefully. In all honestly it reminded Dean of talking to a foreigner, trying to pick words associated with what they were trying to convey; Every word came out heavy as if made of something more than air and noise.

"Your…preconceived notions of Angels are woefully inaccurate."

"So you don't have wings."

"I do."

"Then let's see them!"

Castiel's horror was not masked this time, it washing over his face with amazing speed and fluidity.

"You do not know what you're asking."

"Uh, yeah I do."

"N-"

"Fine, then what are you really? Since you don't have wings you clearly aren't an Angel."

Dean mentally patted himself on the back when the creature – Castiel's face contorted from fear to frustration. _'Now show me what you are so I can kill your sorry ass.'_ As he began to smirk silently his victory was decimated – Castiel's expression returned blank and he closed his eyes. Dean could feel the world around him shift and at first he saw nothing. It wasn't until his eyes wandered to the shadow of the now confirmed Angel in front of him that he realized his mistake. The shadow of Castiel's wings was massive – the wing span extending out at least 15ft per wing. In an odd way it was majestic, almost captivating that they existed and yet could not be seen. Dean would never admit that. The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Dean wondering what color they would be in the sunlight.

"This form is a vessel, Dean. My tru-"

"Wait, back up – there's someone in there? As in a possession?"

"Nothing so crude – James Novak is a devout man. He prayed to be of service and he was rewarded."

"You're saying he asked for this?"

"We cannot inhabit a body without certain…criteria to be met. They must be of a special bloodline and we must be invited in."

"So…like a T.V. Vampire with entering houses?"

"I…do not understand that reference."

Dean snorted. _'Leave it to an Angel to not know pop culture.'_ Realizing that after a minute Castiel was still staring expectantly at him; Dean cleared his throat and turned away.

"It's not important."

He turned then, back to the forest and the direction he saw smoke still billowing from. He had to test his legs to make sure that despite the fall they were still working. Ability confirmed, Dean began his long track back – he hadn't realized how far away he had made it until that moment.

***

Castiel watched Dean retreat into the forest despite his wounds seeping blood, panicked.

"Dean."

***

The hunter kept walking. He knew it possibly was not his best idea, having his back open to attack from this Angel, but he needed to know he wasn't the last one left. He needed to know someone – anyone from their rag tag little family was alive. He also couldn't shake the feeling that Sam had been in the house. Dean picked up his pace while he tried not to think about it.

Castiel, silently following behind the Righteous Man, could hear the remnants of his Grace within the hunter fade away as they fought and failed against the sudden surge of new blood to the wounds.

"Dean."

Dean could feel the blood seeping down his body further saturating his already ruined clothes. He didn't care – what mattered right now was Sam. He needed to know if he was okay. He needed to know he wasn't all alone in this. Dean ignored the pain, ignored the Angel on his heels calling, demanding his attention. He just couldn't focus on that right now, if he did he would falter.

"Dean, listen to me-"

"You know what? You can suck it, chuckles."

"Dean, listen-"

"Fuck you."

Suddenly there he was, Castiel's blue eyes boring holes into his skull.

"Dean, listen to me. You will bleed out if you don't treat your wounds, you cannot continue like this."

"It doesn't matter."

" **Dean-** "

"Look, Sam is out there; Jo, Ellen and Bobby are out there. They need me and I'm going to be there. You can try and stop me but you'll have to kill me first. So either get it over with or get the Hell out of the way."

Their eyes locked for a few minutes before Dean broke the connection, side stepping Castiel and continuing.

"Dean."

Frustrated and ready to send fists flying, Dean turned around and began to respond only to have Castiel press two fingers to his forehead. His breath was all but sucked out of him as he felt the world shift and turn. The sudden change in location made Dean gasp a much needed breathe as he attempted to reorient himself. The instant his eyes fell upon the still smoldering skeleton of the house his heart fell and he knew.

Taking two steps forward before collapsing to his knees, Dean could not look away. ' _It's gone._ ' He thought as he felt the world lose its meaning. ' _They're all gone._ ' Suddenly, the hand was once more returned to his shoulder. Ripping his eyes from the carnage he once again found himself looking at Castiel.

"They are gone, Dean."

"Yeah, I got that."

Dean's voice was wrecked, scratched raw and shattered.

"Not all hope is lost."

Rage boiled to the surface then, white hot and self righteous. Slapping away Castiel's hand Dean stood, flipping around so he was nose to nose with God's messenger.

" _Not all hope is lost_? Are you a fucking **moron**? Everything – _everything_ has been taken from me. My home, my _family_ , my brother; Sam is dead, Castiel. I'd say there's nothing left."

"Sam is alive."

Dean's brain stuttered to a violent stop.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Sam is alive, Dean."

"You'd better not be messing with me, Cass, or I swear –"

"I don't understand what you mean by 'messing with you', but I assure you that I am telling you the truth."

Dean held eye contact for a few minutes longer before stepping back. ' _Sammy's alive._ ' Dean didn't know where or under what circumstances, but he got out. There was still hope.

"Dean, please allow me to heal you; your wounds are rather severe-"

He pulled away from the Angel's outstretched hand more violently than he had intended. Castiel, as if attempting to calm a frightened animal, held that hand palm open before finally letting it fall to his side.

"Dude, keep your hands off of me."

"De-"

"Stop saying my name like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you know me! Like we're best friends and we dance in fields of fucking flowers together."

"But I _do_ know you, Dean."

Something in Dean snapped then, something that had long since been bubbling to the surface.

"Don't you **ever** claim you know me! You don't!"

The air grew suddenly cold as Castiel went from looking frail to downright menacing. Somehow despite his slight build he looked to be much larger than Dean.

"I am the one who gripped you tight and saved you from Perdition. Had I not been there when you collapsed you would have never risen to see today; I am the Angel God sent to save you and I have watched over you and your family far longer than you presume to know. I have looked at your soul and held it in my hands, Dean. Do not assume that our meeting now is our first and do **not** claim to know the extent of my knowledge of you."

Dean was, for all intents and purposes, shell shocked. Castiel made no move to touch him again and Dean made no further move to further the distance between them. The air was electrified between the two, tense and somehow terrifying. Finally, Dean spoke, doing so more out of curiosity than anything else.

"So God sent you to help me?"

Castiel remembered then a Thursday many years ago, spying over a conversation between the Winchester brothers. Dean was trying to explain to Sam the importance of lying to keep their little family safe and to get the information they need to help them hunt the monsters.

"Sammy, what do we tell them when they ask why we're here?"

"That their painting is haunted and if they don't let us destroy it –"

"No, dude, just no!"

"I don't get it."

"You don't tell them the truth!"

"Why not?"

"Because A) They'll think we're two scoops of crazy. 2) It's as much about protecting them as it is us. Normal people don't have to know about monsters – their stupidity means they get to live long and happy lives."

Pulled out of his mental reverie, Castiel found Dean staring expectantly at him. Shifting his gaze to the right, not wanting to give himself away, he gave Dean his reply.

"Yes."

***

A week had passed and Dean had settled into yet another seedy motel. He'd been traveling from the instant he learned that God had supposedly sent someone to keep after him. Keeping his mind on the task ahead, Dean had called all of Sammy's phones - even activated the GPS tracking signals - trying desperately to find him. When he recovered the third and final one he found that, like the last two, it had been a bust; either Sam did not want to be found or... Dean didn't want to think about the second possibility.

What he couldn't help but notice was that annoying as Hell Angel that was following him around. He kept his distance, Dean could give him that, but no matter how far Dean went or where he traveled to he only had to survey the immediate area to find Castiel. It was possibly the creepiest thing Dean ever had to deal with. Now that his leads on his brother had all but run dry Dean reluctantly realized that he needed help and he had no one left to turn to. Well, almost no one.

Grumbling while he grabbed his keys off the night stand, Dean went on a coffee run – buying two of plain with lots of cream and sugar on the side in case Castiel liked his coffee a certain way. If he liked it at all, that is. Realizing that he was contemplating about what coffee an _Angel_ preferred, Dean mentally scolded himself before getting out of the car and walking to the hotel door. Stopping short, Dean called out to his Angelic stalker.

"Look, Cass, I know you're there; we really need to talk, so if you could kindly get your feathery ass over here and open this door I'd really appreciate it."

"Cass?"

Without warning Castiel appeared in Dean's peripheral vision causing him to nearly spill the cups all over himself. Turning to him, he caught himself almost smiling at the look of confusion on the Angel's face which was further accentuated by an ever so slight tilt of his head to the right.

"Uh, yeah; you know, a nickname. Like Sam is for Samuel and Bobby is for Robert?"

"Yes, I am aware. I am just…confused. Nicknames are customarily a sign of endearment or affection, you-"

"Dude, you gotta relax. Your name is just a mouthful, that's it. I can go back to calling you feathers if-"

"I do not mind."

***

Castiel did his best to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he opened the door for Dean. The hunter finally trusted him – this was a good sign. Perhaps now he could rest his weary wings, flying around to follow Dean proved to be more tiring than he had anticipated; the speed of travel was drastically below his own. Castiel had noted the superfluous cup in Dean's holder by now, dismissing it as another human behavioral pattern he would never understand. That is until Dean took it out and held it out towards him.

Confusion danced across his face as he tried to understand the gesture. Dean looked tense, almost…nervous? No, that wasn't quite right. Suddenly, the hunter cleared his throat while his eyes flitted to and from his face.

"I uh…I didn't know what kind you liked so I just got it black. There's some creamer and stuff in the bag if you're into that kind of thing."

Castiel still didn't understand as he just stood there and watched Dean as he squirmed in his seat. Finally, the Angel decided it would be best to try and accept the cup as an offering. Perhaps Dean was proposing an alliance? The hunter finally continued.

"Right, well, uh…Could you just sit down?"

The proper word finally clicked – uncomfortable. That's why Dean was acting tense and awkward. Thinking on the question, Castiel found himself nodding. It wasn't entirely an unreasonable request after all; it just wasn't something he was accustomed to. Taking the seat adjacent to the Righteous Man, Castiel perched on the edge of the seat. Dean still seemed tense despite that, like Castiel's actions were not correct, which further confused the Angel.

"Uh, you gonna drink that?"

Castiel blinked at him a few times before turning his attention back to the forgotten coffee in his hands and then back to Dean.

"Angels do not require sustenance, Dean."

"Oh…Well, what about your vessel? James, right? He needs food sometimes."

Now the Angel had to think on this a moment. While it was true that Castiel's presence inside of James did prevent him from feeling any discomfort or pain it did not change the fact that when Castiel left him he would have an empty stomach. Rationalizing, it couldn't _hurt_ for him to feed his vessel every once in a while. Leaning down to the cup in his hand, he took an experimental sniff before his nose crinkled involuntarily. Hearing a chuckle, he looked up to find Dean watching him intently with a crooked smile on his face.

"You don't like it?"

"It smells…unpleasant."

"You're just like Sam, such a pussy. Here-"

Dean reached into the bag then, pulling out two small packets and pouches. Ripping the tops off of the packets, he poured sugar into the cup before repeating the process with the packets. Dean even procured a miniature red utensil from the bag to stir the combined contents until Castiel could see the dark liquid cloud up and turn softer. Taking another experimental sniff when Dean leaned back away he noted that it did smell better. Leaning over and hesitantly reaching towards the bag, Castiel waited for Dean's nod to continue. He ended up with four sugar packets and six creamer shots before he smiled ever so slightly and hummed when he took sips.

***

Dean was half tempted to poke jabs at Castiel's obvious sweet tooth but thought better of it. The Angel seemed almost content being engrossed in sipping his coffee – which was more emotion than Dean had seen in him since day one. When he realized that he was sitting all 'comfy cozy' with a friggin' _Angel of the Lord_ he decided to cut to the chase before they started swapping ghost stories and braiding each others' hair. Clearing his throat to grab Cass's attention, Dean shifted in his seat before getting down to business.

"Look, I've looked through everything, everywhere and followed every lead but Sam is just gone. You're the one who said he was still alive, so I really need-"

"I have been searching as well."

Dean waited for him to continue in vain, the Angel just staring at him over the top of his coffee cup.

" **And?** "

"I believe your brother is being held captive by Demons."

Dean's blood ran cold. Sure, they'd hunted Demons all their lives so it made sense they would want revenge – the real question was why just Sam? Surely the Demons thought everyone else was dead, but Dean had been in the business a lot longer than his brother. The idea of revenge seemed…off. Then Dean realized that there were a few things he hadn't even thought of questioning.

"Why Demons?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Why are you so sure it's Demons?"

"I cannot find him, Dean. Angels are inherently capable of finding anyone anywhere in the world and yet he is hidden from me. Only someone well versed in Enochian spells could do this and that is a language so forgotten that only Angels and a rare few Demons remember it."

"Then who's to say-"

"Angels follow God's Will absolutely; kidnapping Sam Winchester is not part of that."

"Fine, then how can I find him?"

"We will research and hunt; it appears to be the only option."

"Whoa, 'we'?"

"Yes Dean, I will accompany you."

***

Castiel mistook the look of gratitude for that of protest, raising a hand to silence the hunter before continuing.

"Dean, you are wounded and desperate. Do not make the mistake in assuming that your escape gave you an advantage."

"Wait, wh-"

"Did you ever stop to question _how_ the Demons found your family's home?"

"Well-"

"They placed a tracking device in your vehicle, Dean."

"… _What?_ "

"While you and Jo were distracted vanquishing the Vampires they slipped the device under the body of your Impala."


	3. Chapter 3

"You mean to tell me that those sons of bitches _used me_ to kill my family?"

It was too late to take back what had been said, Castiel realized that the statement had done more harm than good. Not knowing what to say he gave a small nod while averting his eyes.

" **Fuck.** "

"I have removed the device, Dean, but it was not until the first night you started looking for Sam. By now they must know someone is out there."

"Yeah, but-"

"It would be unwise for you to continue by yourself."

"Yeah? Well, I never was the smart one."

"You are intelligent, Dean."

***

Dean finally turned his attention from the cup in his hands to the Angel in front of him. He was not about to have this conversation – they'd talked enough for one night. Setting aside the coffee he no longer had an appetite for, and pushed the bag across the table, Dean stood and moved to the bathroom. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him as he moved, grabbing spare clothes and a towel.

"Look, I do need your help. I'm stuck up the river without a fucking boat, so if you're really willing to help I won't stop you. We've just got to lay down some rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah, boundaries that should never be crossed."

"I understand the term, Dean."

"Good! Rule number one: When in the Impala, the driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, yeah – you don't get it. You'll figure it out."

***

Castiel wasn't sure what to think of this turn of events as he nodded solemnly in reply. Dean snorted at him then, turning around and entering into the bathroom. The Angel took this opportunity to look around the room, take in his surroundings. Like the others Dean had stayed in over the years, this hotel room was a poor excuse for one; there were stains along the walls and on some of the blankets that did not require an imagination to figure out.

He finished off his coffee then, the last grain filled bits not nearly as pleasant as the first few sips. Castiel noted the two twin sized beds in the room, wondering if Dean got them now out of habit than deliberate planning. He would have to explain to the hunter that he did not have any humanly needs at some point, perhaps when he returned.

***

Dean, closing the door behind him, sighed. He could already tell that this journey was going to be longer than necessary. If it wasn't bad enough that he had no idea where to start looking he had a feeling that an Angel walking amongst humans was going to be a full time babysitting gig. Maybe he deserved this frustration, though. His own reckless actions cost good hunters, good people their lives. In his heart, Dean knew he should have died in that fire.

Shoving those thoughts deep into his subconscious, Dean stripped and started the water. As he caught a glimpse of his healing wounds in the mirror he turned to examine the ones on his back. He really needed to get some help patching them up – some were stitched crookedly while other were barely covered with bandages at all. Looking at it all a moment, Dean realized that he was going to have to ask eventually. Clearing his throat, he called out to his companion as he turned the water back off.

"Hey Cass, could you come-"

"Yes Dean?"

He had been expecting the sudden appearance this time, a sound of fluttering wings echoing through the room to signal the Angel's appearance. Dean watched in silence as Castiel's eyes flicked across his back, assessing the damage. The hunter stood very still, waiting for Cass to offer. Instead, the Angel gingerly reached out as if to touch him only to have Dean flinch away.

"You need to be treated, Dean. These wounds are infected and you've lost a lot of blood from them."

"I know, just…not your way."

"What do you mean?"

"You healed me before, right? Used your Angel mojo to magic my pain away."

"In a sense, I suppose."

"I don't want that, Cass. I need to heal these on my own, I need…"

"You want to scars to remind you."

"No matter how this plays out, I don't want to forget my mistake."

"Dean, it wasn't-"

" **Don't**. Just don't. Will you help me or am I gonna lose more blood?"

***

Castiel knew the Righteous Man needed this somehow, no matter how irrational or impractical it seemed. This was something he could not deny him. Silently, the Angel nodded.

"I will need supplies."

"I'll get 'em, just wait. Here."

Castiel nodded slowly as Dean exited the dingy room. Taking in his surroundings once more, he noticed the tobacco stained walls, the faint smell of cheap perfume and the lingering outlines of watermarks cleaned with bleach. When the hunter returned, alcohol and pseudo first aid supplies in tow, Castiel shuffled out of the way.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Dean was looking him in the eyes through the mirror then, his hands busy arranging tools on the counter top.

"Dean, I have seen your family and millions of others-"

"Have you done it before?"

"No."

As if in reply Dean took a swig of the alcohol before straddling the toilet. Cracking his neck, he took another swig and replaced the top.

"Let's get this over with."

Castiel removed the trench coat and suit jacket in favor of not having to use his powers to clean them later. With a gentle precision he rolled up his sleeves then removed the current wrappings that were fresh but already saturated. Just one look and he knew it was bad. Blood was steadily oozing out of the larger cuts, the smaller ones an angry pink with pus discolored scabs. Even the ones Dean had managed to stitch seemed infected; others appeared to have remaining shards of glass within.

"Dean-"

"Just…do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Reaching over, Castiel plucked the smallest knife of the group. Gently he set one hand on Dean's back, causing him to flinch. The Angel willed his Grace to flow gently through Dean's back, sending a feeling of ease as he began to remove the original stitches. Afterwards he slowly cut open the inflamed flesh in order to flush the infection out. Blood and pus trickled down the hunter's back as Castiel replaced the blade and grabbed the bottle. Before pouring the Angel realized it would be a waste if he did not get the pus out first. Thinking on it a moment, he manipulated his Grace once more, forcing all the foreign liquids out.

"Fuck, Cass, I said-"

"I am not healing you, Dean. The infection is deeply rooted, if I do not force it out it will get worse. We are doing this your way but on my terms. Now sit still, the glass will cause discomfort otherwise."

Dean's silence ensured, Castiel focused once more on the shards to make positive they all came out. He could hear the hunter's breath become slightly labored as they made their way through the already raw flesh. Moving before thinking he placed the bottle to Dean's lips.

"Drink."

Castiel had not expected for Dean to oblige, but was pleasantly surprised when he did. He watched the glass surface and drop to the floor before pulling the bottle away and immediately pouring the contents over the wounds on the hunter's back.

" **Fuck!** A warning would have been nice!"

"Would it have changed anything?"

Dean clutched the top of the toilet instead of responding. Castiel poured over them a couple more times before handing the remainder to Dean, reaching for the sterilized needle and spool of fishing line. Swiftly and precisely Castiel sewed the wounds shut. Eying over his handiwork one last time he replace the supplies before grabbing the bactine and applying it as well. Finally, he re-bandaged the Righteous Man and stepped back.

***

As Dean stood the silence of the room became almost stifling as though in anticipation. He did not turn his eyes to meet Castiel's, feeling the weight of them boring down on him from behind. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides and spoke in hushed tones.

"Thanks Cass."

"You do not need to-"

"Just…Thank you. For everything."

"Always."

The night was spent in silence until Dean decided it was time to turn in.

"I'm…off to bed. Make yourself at home, tomorrow we ride."

"Very well."

As Dean moved around the room, moving off of his bed and going to turn off his light, he felt the presence of someone staring. Turning to face the Angel, Dean found Castiel still standing beside the bed watching him intently. Slightly weirded out but trying not to let it show, Dean shrugged and continued. Yet still he felt the uncomfortable tingle of at the back of his neck. Finally fed up he flipped around to say something only to find Castiel sitting awkwardly on the side of his bed facing Dean.

"You don't plan on doing that all night, do you?"

"Yes."

"Cass, you can't just watch another guy sleeping!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's **creepy** , for one!"

"I don't –"

"No, Dude, seriously. If I wake up to you staring at me I _will_ kick your ass."

"Then perhaps I should leave-"

"That's not an option. We work together, you stay in the room. That's non-negotiable. Just…watch TV or something. Try sleeping-"

"Angels cannot sleep."

"Just cause you don't doesn't mean-"

"We can't, not unless we are near death or severely weakened."

"Oh…that sucks...Can you at least dream?"

A wistful smile graced the Angel's lips then, his eyes far off for only a second before he snapped back to the present. Dean resisted the urge to ask, it wasn't for him to know.

"No, Angels do not dream. We can enter a human's dream, manipulate or become a part of it, but we cannot create our own."

"So, if I'm dreaming about…pie you could just saunter into my dream and share one with me?"

"Yes."

"That's really creepy, Dude. Have you ever…you know, done it before?"

***

The question threw Castiel off, he now found himself torn between the truth and falsehood. Yes, he had dream walked before, but only in Dean's dreams. When he was younger he had nightmares about his mother's death and his father just leaving him somewhere. In those instances, the Angel took the form his subconscious needed most and would comfort him until the dream was over. It had been a long time since Castiel had, but it seemed somehow wrong to bring it up now. Against his better judgment, he decided the truth was the best path to take.

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

Perhaps a half truth with omissions was best.

"They were nightmares."

"Oh…Well, have you tried again since?"

"Recently, no."

"Uh huh…Well, just so you know – Rule #2: No rooting through my head without an invitation. That shit is creepy and weird."

"Understood."

By now Dean was down to his T-shirt and boxer briefs as he slipped under the covers and turned off his light. As the hunter turned away from him Castiel heard his voice, faint and gruff, whisper, "G'night, Cass."

"Sleep well, Dean."

Dean's breath evened out, Castiel relaxed and began to process the data from the last 24hrs. He had finally made progress; Dean was asking questions and listening to the answers. The only question now was how long would it take for them to find Sam. Heaven had to know of his absence by now, had to know who he was with and yet the Angelic Communication Link was silent. That's when it hit him – the link was silent. Reaching out and desperately searching for his siblings voices he only found the stifling quiet of his own mind.

This could only mean one thing – this he knew. They needed to find Sam. Only the sound of Dean thrashing in the bed beside him pulled him from his mental reverie. One look and he knew Dean was having a nightmare. Moving to one side of the man's bed, Castiel had a seat near one of the pillows. He had promised Dean he would not 'root through his mind'; perhaps in the morning he would suggest an exception to the rule – in the case of danger or emergency. Keeping to his word, Castiel used his Grace to reach out and send a wave of comfort to wash over the sleeping hunter. At first he resisted, his thrashing subdued while his expression turned grave. With a little patience on the Angel's part Dean finally calmed, his face relaxing into a look of serenity.

Castiel waited in his spot until he felt Dean begin to wake, hours having passed while he simply watched the world outside the window. Before Dean could be awake enough to see him he moved back to his own bed, taking care to face the room rather than Dean.

***

As Dean came to from possibly the best sleep he'd had all week the first thing he did was look for the Angel. _'That sonovabitch had better not-'_ His train of thought was cut off when he found Castiel in the same place he was when he had fallen asleep, facing a blank TV screen with an equally blank stare. As if on cue the Angel turned to address him.

"Hello Dean."

Castiel slowly turned to Dean then, his face a mask of innocent curiosity.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"Were you staring at the blank TV all night?"

There was a brief pause.

"Yes."

"Dude, you gotta turn it on before watching it."

"Turn it on?"

"You, hit the button. It's a lot more entertaining to watch."

"How hard do I 'hit the button'?"

"Not – I meant push it! Like this."

Adjusting himself into a more comfortable sitting position, Dean snatched the remote from the bedside table and flicked on the TV. Getting up and showing the Angel the controls, he began to explain how to use it.

"Look, this is on and off. These control the channels and this is the volume control – you know, loud and quiet. Enjoy."

Turning to the bathroom he dropped the remote into the Angel's hands, vaguely wondering if the guy was really this dumb or if he just had a really odd sense of humor.

"Dean, what about –"

"Dude, I need a shower and some food before I am a functioning member of society."

"I don't –"

"It's a human thing."

"Understood."

The Angel turned to the over dramatic soap opera on the screen before hitting the channel button. _'Thank fucking God.'_ Dean thought as he stripped off his shirt and closed the door behind him, only wincing a little at the thought that he was probably mentally insulting the poor bastard in the adjoined room. _'I don't think I could take him liking girly shit.'_ Turning his back to the mirror he admired Castiel's handiwork for the first time. There was no stitch out of place, even the harder to close wounds covered with carefully placed and intricately designed stitches. The cuts looked agitated but definitely better than the night before. Nodding his approval he stripped his last bit of clothing before turning on the shower and getting in.

***

Castiel heard the water start as he continued his search through the channels. The way the people acted on the initial channel had grated on his nerves, Cass did not wish to continue watching.

"Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?"

The straight forward manner of the question gave him pause, his hand stilled on the remote as he watched the man step back into the line with the others while the person to his left stepped forward.

"Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?"

That man stepped back then, the man on the far left of the screen stepping forward and beginning to talk while the scene switched to a woman in her living room.

"Have you or any of your family seen a spook, specter or ghost?"

Woman set down her groceries while the man in the middle continued where the other left off.

"If the answer is yes, then don't wait another minute! Pick up your phone and call the professionals."

The scene switched back to the TV where all three men stepped forward.

"Ghostbusters."

Castiel began to lean forward, his interest in the remote completely lost as he watched the woman remove her bag as she continued to watch her screen.

"Our courteous and efficient staff is on call 24hrs a day to serve all of your supernatural elimination needs."

The scene showed the screen once more where the three men were lined up much closer to the screen, obviously trying to go for an effect of some kind. The poor attempt at talking in unison was not lost on Castiel as most of the show was. They smiled and pointed at the camera.

"We're ready to believe you!"

Castiel's face mirrored the woman's as he continued to watch this new show with interests piqued.

***

Dean walked out of the bathroom to the sound of Ray Charles Jr. and a siren. Walking until he stood beside Castiel, his suspicions were confirmed.

"Ghostbusters, huh?"

Castiel jumped in his seat, wide eyes turned to Dean in wonder.

"Your family should have invested in a Proton Pack – they appear to be quite effective."

It took everything Dean had not to flat out laugh in his face. Chocking back a smile, the hunter tried to remain as normal as possible.

"Cass, it's just TV. They aren't real."

Castiel's brow furrowed in contemplation; somehow it made Dean feel like he was telling a 5yr old that Santa didn't exist.

"The Ghostbusters don't really hunt ghosts?"

"They don't exist – just actors playing roles someone wrote for them."

"Oh."

Castiel turned back to the TV, watching for a few more moments before shutting it off. Dean really felt like a bad person then, despite the idea that it should have been obvious.

"You okay?"

The Angel seemed surprised that he had asked, but Dean couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly nice to his Angelic companion. A small smile spread across his face then, a gentle twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Yes."

***

Two weeks had passed with Dean's stitches out, only fading pink scars in their place. As the weeks drew on Dean got to witness firsthand the raw power and ability Castiel possessed. To quote Castiel in one of their more recent fights, "I am a warrior, Dean. I was not created to be a Peace Keeper, a Relief Worker. I am a Servant of God – I do not serve man and I do not take orders from you." Like most of their arguments, the Angel won that one. Following the signs of Demons they'd traveled cross country to Nevada before the trail ran cold again.

Dean was getting more frustrated by the minute, the smallest annoyance quickly blown out of proportion. As he paced the room Castiel remained seated on his bed for the evening, fidgeting while he sat in silence. As the hunter watched his fingers continue to smooth nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric of his trench coat he finally exploded yet again.

"Stop doing that!"

***

Castiel was startled; he had noticed he was doing anything. He hadn't even been staring at Dean, just staring at his now scuffed shoes.

"What?"

"Stop…fidgeting. It's annoying."

***

The Angel looked at his hands then, his expression horrified. It took Dean a moment to realize that this was the first time he had seen Castiel do something so…human.

"My apologies."

"N-no, it's fine."

***

Castiel has realized that night two weeks ago that Heaven had, as Dean would say, 'cut him off'. From that moment on he tried to conserve his powers, growing more and more conscious of his slowly dwindling Grace. He knew he should turn to someone, ask for help, but all he had was Dean and Dean was already dealing with so much. He didn't need this too.

"Hey, are you…are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't usually…fidget."

"I am fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

A series of Demon warning signs appeared over night, effectively ending Dean's curiosity of the matter. They traveled to Seattle with haste, barely stopping for anything. Dean insisted on getting there before the Demons 'split', yet another term Castiel struggled to comprehend. Speaking was much easier two thousand years ago, back when slang did not exist and words had one meaning. They stopped in Bend, Washington for the night only to continue four hours later. Castiel tried to talk Dean out of it, seeing the exhaustion on his face, but there was no reasoning with him. The feverish way he hunted only became more drastic as time passed.

"Cass, they have Sam. I don't know what they're doing to him or why and I can't leave him alone out there. I can rest when I'm dead."

Castiel never brought it up again. It took two days to track down and trap the demon; his cold, calculating eyes twinkled with amusement as Dean attempted to get information out of him. He used chants, salt, holy water – everything he had learned hurt them to no avail. Just as Dean began to lose his patience Castiel stepped forward.

"Allow me."

"I've got this."

"Dean, you know I would not offer if I did not believe I could help."

The Demon took this moment to interject.

"Yeah, give the scrawny one a chance! I'm sure that if his puny arms don't break when trying to lift-"

"I'm an Angel, you ass."

***

Dean chuckled inwardly – he was particularly proud of how Cass was picking up 'human words'. Looking at the Demon, he could see that the color had drained from his face. Dean had to admit he was impressed; they hadn't really bothered telling the Demons before – just had Cass do his thing at the end with the lights. This could be useful.

"You know what? Go ahead, Cass. Have a field day."

***

The Demon attempted to speak only to have Castiel make a sweeping hand gesture and its voice automatically go silent. Panic spread over its face as it struggled against its bindings in a frenzy to beg for its life. Ignoring it, Castiel turned back to Dean.

"Please leave the room."

"Wait, what?"

"What I will do is not something a human should see."

"Dude, I'll be fine."

"I may have to use my true form-"

The Demon stilled in silent terror.

"- which would cause your eyes to burn out of your skull. I need you to leave the room."

"That bad, huh?"

"I don't understand that reference."

"It's – never mind."

***

Dean left the room, shutting the door behind him at Castiel's insistence. He waited outside of that room for 15 minutes and saw two flashes of light beneath the door before Castiel came out. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands caked in fresh blood.

"Your brother is currently in Vermont, they will be moving him in 6hrs."

"Are you sure?"

"He was not lying."

Castiel finally turned to him then, the yellow light of the building exaggerating the haggard appearance of the Angel. Even his eyes seemed dim compared to their first encounter. A low grumble echoed between them then, cutting the tension and making Dean tense by the suddenness.

"Dude…Did your stomach just growl?"

"I…do not know what you mean."

"Oh, don't pull that crap! I know you heard it."

"We are closing in on Sam, we should-"

"Don't change the subject! What is going _on_ with you?"

"I am tired – the Demon took more out of me than I had anticipated."

"That's **bullshit** -"

"Let us return to the room."

"Cass-"

"Please."

The Angel looked so exhausted; Dean may have been stubborn but he couldn't push this. Nodding, they turned and left. The drive back to the room was silent as Castiel stared out the window and Dean stole glances at him. Sure, he had noticed that the Angel's stubble had grown darker, more pronounced. He even had dark circles, but Dean hadn't thought much on it. Despite the way Cass acted, Dean often forgot he wasn't human.

***

As they neared the hotel Castiel decided it was time he told Dean the truth – the whole truth. He was getting weaker with each passing day; he almost couldn't vanquish the Demon a few minutes ago. He couldn't risk not telling Dean anymore, not when this quest had so much depending on him. He decided it was prudent to wait until they entered their shared room, Dean sitting down on his bed while he began removing his boots.

"Dean."

The hunter turned to him, poorly masked concern just beneath the surface. Castiel's chest lurched in a painful way, despite that he continued.

"We need to talk."


End file.
